


Hyacinth

by itsasmallworld



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Language of Flowers, Oneshot, Sad, Unnamed female character - Freeform, tragic, unnamed male character - Freeform, very short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-20 21:38:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21063593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsasmallworld/pseuds/itsasmallworld
Summary: Death lingers eternally





	Hyacinth

The evening sky is a mix of blue and purple. Deep purple that matches the vase of hyacinths on the shelf. The leaves are shriveled and falling off, creating a blanket of brown around the base and scatter on the floor, ignored.

_Apology, death._

He stares at them for a while before walking away. He remembers buying those. Was it yesterday? A week ago? He doesn’t remember when. The apartment is a mess; empty bottles litter the floor and remnants of flowers fill every hard surface. A large vase full of dying marigolds and meadowsweet takes up most of a small side table.

_Grief, uselessness._

He moves to the kitchen. A basket of pomegranates sits on the dark counter, forgotten.

_Foolishness._

The living room isn't better. The only space not covered with lifeless plants is a desk. On it, a small picture frame with a picture of a woman, sitting in the sun and laughing. Head back, she has a look of pure euphoria. She’s no older than twenty. Next to it sits a vase of azaleas and primroses; a tangled wreath of helenium leans against them.

_First love, young love, tears._

Looking at the picture brings unwanted memories. Flashes of a car’s lights, red, pain and the girl in the picture next to him. He stumbles, reaching out to grab onto the desk. He can feel tears pooling, then falling, but does nothing to wipe them. He drops to the floor, trying in vain to suppress the memories. He doesn’t remember her laugh or her perfume, but her screams and the smell of her blood. The unpleasant smell of aloe coils around the metallic odor.

_Grief._

After he collects himself, he walks to his bag by the door and reaches in. He pulls out a crushed bouquet of pink carnations and places it next to the wreath before leaving again.

_I will never forget you. _


End file.
